


The Year of Magical Thinking

by BarkGable (hugemistake05)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Baggage, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fix-It, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Tension, Spoilers, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-02 21:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21168227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hugemistake05/pseuds/BarkGable
Summary: Francis Sinclair believed Arthur Morgan had not finished living. In a second chance at life, Arthur discovers what it means to love himself.At the edge of a precipice and nowhere to run, Arthur concedes defeat. In an extraordinary turn of events, he is sent through the ether to another time where his path crosses with a group not too unlike his own family. After discovering the fate of those he loved before, he races to find a way back. But what if he realizes that there is something worth staying for in this new world? Can two people separated by nearly a hundred and twenty years of living find their happily ever after?





	1. Prologue - A Dream of Arthur Morgan

**Author's Note:**

> So…Super nervous posting this. It’s the first time in a few years that I’ve written anything (the first fandom-centered work I’ve written since like 2005 lmao; Gilmore Girls anybody?) and it shows. But, alas, I’ve been incredibly inspired by RDR2’s story and the way other authors on Tumblr & AO3 have expanded on it. Shit guys, dunno if anybody is even going to read this, but I’ll push it out of the nest and into the world regardless. This may be the stupidest idea ever, but whatever, I’ll let y’all decide. A warning: This is not beta'd, but I reread it like 50 times. Still, I apologize for my terrible grammar. And, yes, I have shamelessly lifted the title from Joan Didion’s fantastic book. It just fit. So. Well. I’m terribly uncreative, so please forgive me Joan. Also, my only knowledge of 1920s-speak comes from F. Scott Fitzgerald, Clara Bow movies and Googling. I don’t know if anybody ever really said ‘old sport’, but what the hell. On another note, there will be a few things taken from the GTA universe, but it's minimal (San Andreas/Liberty City do not exist). I'll be explaining through a secondary character how states in RDR became the modern states that we know. And finally, constructive criticism welcomed and appreciated!! Anyway, here's Wonderwall...

Roanoke Valley - 1899  
  
Peace settled over Arthur Morgan like a warm embrace; the rattle in his lungs that had invaded his every waking moment these past few months now a distant feeling. With each labored rise and fall of his chest, drowning in his own blood, he spared but one final thought.

It’s over. It’s finally over and death would soon come for him.

This wasn’t how Arthur had envisioned his death. No, he had always thought he would die with a bullet in his chest and cordite in his lungs. Not at the behest of disease and treachery. Such a shame that wisdom should only come to him on his deathbed. If only…

That’s what it came down to, that’s what it always comes down to. _If only, if only, if only_, his mind repeated nonstop. Regrets, Arthur had plenty of them. For months, he had been sinking so far in regrets, he could scarcely breathe. What could he have done differently that would have given a better outcome? How had he not seen Dutch’s descent into mania? Arthur supposed that maybe he had seen but chose to ignore, because when had Dutch ever led them astray.

Micah. Arthur had so many regrets about that goddamn snake. Micah had attached to Dutch like a leech and sucked every drop of the very lifeblood of the gang. He had played on all of Dutch’s insecurities and weaknesses. Arthur’s eyes were finally open, for all the good it did him now. But that rat was only one of the last in a long line of regrets he would have in his life. Arthur’s craving for penance started long before Micah came along.

Maybe Arthur himself was the leech, a disease – an infection. Death and pestilence followed him around like an acrid smell. It was something that seeped into his skin, clawed its way inside like a cancer until it reached his soul, the very center of him. Not happy with just him, it carried through the air and infected everything he had ever cared for or loved. His mother, Hosea, Mary, Eliza and –

Isaac. Arthur still had trouble even saying his name, so wrapped up in guilt as he was. During the rare times he found himself alone, thoughts of the little towheaded boy would invade his mind. Being rightly familiar with cowardice, he would press the tips of his fingers to his skull until they felt like ten dull knives, as if to physically rid himself of the painful memories. Of course, this rarely worked and he was resigned to suffer through the punishment he subconsciously forced upon himself. And now, as he laid on the jagged gravel of this cliff, he finally welcomed the comforting mental images of his son.

Feeling the weight of a life lived recklessly lift slowly from his mind, Arthur turned his head towards the setting sun, his final thought being: _I gave it all I had_.

* * *

Francis Sinclair had one rule:

Don’t mess with the timeline.

It had seemed so easy in its simplicity. In the beginning, that is, until it wasn’t. He hadn’t counted on Arthur Morgan. For a _bad man_, he sure did a lot of good. Probably more than he realized. When Francis had asked the outlaw to find the futuristic rock carvings, he hadn’t expected Mr. Morgan to deliver. Especially not in a matter of months. Chronos himself probably would have found the task trying.

So, in 1932, when Francis had read about the fate of the Van der Linde Gang in a new hit novel by J. R. Miller, he learned that the coppers had closed in on his ole friend, and well, that just wouldn’t do. He understood that he wouldn’t be able to find Mr. Morgan in the time needed to prevent the most unfortunate aspects of his fate, but he could prevent the ultimate one. What he didn’t expect was to find the man with one arm in a Chicago Overcoat.

Francis pulled the horse-drawn buckboard to a stop in a clearing next to the crag and hopped down. The air was calm and filled with the late evening chatter of the local fauna. He jogged the incline of the rock until a recumbent figure came into his field of view. It wasn’t until he was a few feet away that he noticed the extent of the man’s injuries. His blue shirt stained brown, gone was the desperado’s worn black leather hat, in its place a matte of blood and dirt in his previously honeyed blonde hair. His once handsome face gaunt, his ashen skin a mess of bruises and cuts. One eye was swollen shut, blood trickling down the corner of his mouth. Was he even breathing? Francis was running out of time.

“You’ve a lot more living yet, old sport,” the redhead crouched down and placed two fingers against the outlaw’s throat finding a slow, but steady pulse. “Yes, a lot more.”

Mr. Morgan groaned.

“Come on, we gotta find a way to get ya on your gams, ya follow?” Francis grabbed the man’s arm and tried to pull him into a sitting position. Morgan was having none of that.

“Let me– let me die, damn you,” he wheezed on an exhale.

“No, no you poor little bunny. Can’t do that. Now up you go,” Francis pulled once more, this time succeeding.

In a broken voice, Arthur pleaded, “Goddamnit, jus’ let me alone. ‘M so damn tired.” When he finally raised his head and opened his good eye, a look of recognition passed over his face. “You– “

“Yes, me. Now, let’s scoot. You don’t have much time, Mr. Morgan.” Francis placed the man’s arm over his own shoulders, Arthur allowing himself to be hauled into standing.

Arthur weakly protested, “’M dyin’, Mr. Sinclair. I’m a dead man. Ain’t no use in helpin’ a dead man.”

Francis just laughed and replied with the strain of half-carrying a grown man in his voice, “No, Mr. Morgan. As I said before, you’ve a lot more living left to do. Now, conserve your strength.”

Likely out of exhaustion, the outlaw did not say another word. They barely made it to the buckboard before Arthur collapsed. Just before Morgan would have fallen to his knees, Francis used the momentum to haul the man into the back of the wagon. As Francis grabbed each of the larger man’s legs to swing into the bed, Arthur’s breath rasped in his throat, “Why you doin’ this?”

Francis regarded him for a moment before saying, “Because you helped me get outta a pretty big pickle.” He paused, then smiled, “And because you’re terribly important to a lot of people, baby.” And with that, Francis climbed back up to the seat and flicked the reigns.

* * *

Well, _shit_.

Arthur’s plan to die in peace had been upended by a curious red-haired fellow in a blue sweater. With no energy to ruminate further, he resolved to die in the bed of this damn wagon. As the cart trudged backed to the main road, Arthur’s worn body felt every mound and stone the wheels rolled over. Finally, on a relatively smooth surface, he allowed himself to observe his surroundings. Tall pines and hemlock blurred into each other passing in his periphery as he stared at the spattering of stars visible through dark clouds. The sun had officially set in the last thirty minutes and all that remained a reddish orange hue near the horizon. Above him though, what a sight indeed. Bright stars twinkled along the Milky Way, like God himself spread them with a paintbrush across the sky.

Why had he taken all this for granted? So many nights spent under these same stars, but Arthur never really paid them any mind except for navigation. How many years before the artificial lights of the cities overpowered their natural beauty? Unable to ponder any longer and continue the fight to stay conscious, Arthur resigned to close his eyes and place complete trust in the relative stranger.

What felt like moments later, or hours Arthur was unsure, cold droplets of water forced his good eye open once again. A murmur of thunder rolled in the distance. Mr. Sinclair finally turned around, his voice deafened by the creaking of the wagon and heavy breathing of the horses.

“We are just a minute away. I think we’ll make it before the worst of the storm hits.”

But like an omen fitting of this night, Sinclair was wrong. What began as random drops here and there crescendoed into a torrential downpour. The red-haired fellow should have known that hitching his wagon to the outlaw would herald an abundance of bad luck. Unable to shield himself and too tired to care, Arthur welcomed the deluge as if it would wash him away.

Mr. Sinclair halted the horses and hopped down from the buckboard once more. He appeared in Arthur’s line of sight as he unlatched the tailgate, setting down a lantern and grabbing the larger man’s arms in another tug-of-war to get him sitting. Water poured down his face and converged at his chin.

“We just have to ankle about ten feet to the opening,” Sinclair hollered over the rain. “You ready?”

At this point, Arthur would have conjured up his most intimidating mien but there was no energy for that. “No,” he answered defeated.

Unperturbed, the younger man smiled, “That’s the spirit.”

Grabbing Arthur’s arms, Mr. Sinclair placed one across his shoulders. When he hauled the outlaw into standing position, Arthur’s world tilted. Feeling unable to breathe and so lightheaded, he launched into a series of hacking coughs. Blood splattered against his hand and mixed with the rain, diluting until it turned into a river of pink down his arm. He looked to Sinclair. Wet hair plastered to his forehead; the cold of the rain made the strange man’s curious birthmark stand out all the more against pale skin.

“When you gonna see that I’m already dead?” His weakened voice barely heard above the storm.

The redhead looked at him, “Please, just trust me.”

They began their short journey to wherever it was they were going, walking only yards but feeling like miles. By the time they reached what appeared to be a cave entrance, Arthur’s knees buckled and his vision went black. He would have felt hitting the ground, if he’d been conscious. Coming to seconds later, he became aware of his arms being tugged above his head. Mr. Sinclair was apparently dragging him. Deep down, Arthur briefly admired the man’s grit. However, the sentiment was soon replaced by annoyance and near-agony as the sensation of what felt like an elephant settled atop his chest. In and out of consciousness, Arthur realized they had stopped when Sinclair crossed the threshold to grab the lantern at the mouth of the cave. The red-haired man set the lantern between the outlaw and the cave wall and then perched above his head, grabbing both of his arms by the wrists. Arthur could see the younger man’s mouth moving but could not discern the words, only comprehending ‘listen’ and ‘your hands’.

Sinclair then placed Arthur’s large hands against the cool stone wall. Even in his delirious state, he recognized the carvings he had previously found for the peculiar fellow. He could feel the vibrations of the man’s voice behind him in what felt like a chant, but he still could not determine the words. To Arthur’s astonishment, the outlines in the rock began glowing a mute bluish color. What began as a slight tingling in his fingertips turn into full body experience. Reality dissolved into nothingness and became a pure void. And then –

Everything.

Every single moment in his hard life experienced again but in hundred times the speed. _This must be it, _Arthur thought. God must be forcing him to relive every chapter of his rotten existence before He banished him to the fiery pits of Hell. Familiar faces began to permeate his view. Arthur tried in vain to reach out at the image of his mother. Beatrice Morgan may have been alive for only a small portion of his life, but he would carry her memory with him forever in the form of a flower at his bedside. Unpleasant memories began to flash as Lyle Morgan pervaded his vision. The son of a bitch had been a vile presence in his young days, a man who Arthur would live in fear of until the moment they finally hanged him. Arrested for larceny, his death hadn’t come soon enough.

And then Hosea appeared, someone Arthur had thought of as more of a father than even Dutch. The man had been convinced by the raven-haired outlaw to take a chance on a scared gangly boy who had just tried to rob their room. Starved and desperate for family, Arthur had latched onto the men soaking up anything they would teach him. And teach him they had.

More memories raced by, and Arthur caught sight of a beautiful brown-haired girl. Mary Gillis, the visage of her still enough to stir his pulse, laughed and blushed like a young woman in love. Even in the inevitability of their parting, Arthur had still carried the hope that they’d one day reunite and ride off into the sunset together. If not for Guarma and the mess that had come from the robbery in St. Denis, that may have been his future. Not the hellfire that awaited his damned soul.

And then, Eliza. A young girl of nineteen, Arthur had found comfort in her embrace in the wake of heartbreak. Intent on forgetting Mary, he foolishly took advantage of a girl’s infatuation and followed her to a room above the saloon where she worked. What had come from the union was a beautiful gift but more a curse. Isaac had his mother’s hair and his father’s eyes. A happy baby from what Eliza had told him. Until a group of transients killed them both over ten dollars. Arthur had just whipped up a tidy sum from some cattle rustling and had set his compass to visit his secret family, fully intent on giving Eliza all of the hard-earned money. What greeted him would harden his heart and set him on a path of wickedness. All he had to see were the two graves to understand what had happened.

Like a moving picture, the entirety of his life played before him. If this was what the devil had in mind for his punishment, it would be a hellish eternity. Forced to relive every mistake and misstep he’d ever made; it was what he deserved. But as the memories neared their end, he began to feel a weightlessness. Every atrocity and sin that had weighed heavy on his shoulders suddenly lifted. Again, everything went black.

But then –

Stars. Billions of them. Clearer than any night sky he’d ever seen. Galaxies and distant worlds powdered his vision like puffs of freshly picked cotton. No longer held under the burden of sickness, he took a deep and easy breath. He hadn’t felt this well in months – no, years. Was this heaven? Could God forgive a lifetime of misdeeds? Arthur may have never been a good man, but he did try to be better – in the end. But, no. He was irredeemable. This was a final punishment. A peek at the peace and serenity that redemption would have gifted, before God cast him from the light.

The answer was seemingly given when an unnatural force dragged him back through the ether. Again, hundreds of images flashed in his sight, but this time the memories didn’t belong to him. Too fast to discern individual frames, he could only pick out one reoccurring subject. A woman with dark blonde hair and a bright smile that formed two apple cheeks. Strangely familiar, his memory told him he didn’t know her, but his subconscious shouted in recognition. Then she was gone and with her the remainder of his vision.

Everything turned to black once more.


	2. Spelunking, and Other Wacky Ideas

Somewhere in East Texas – August 2018

It was hot. Typical for this time of year, but this heat was on another level oppressive. Surrounded by tall pines and thick shrubbery, there wasn’t much of a breeze. Dr. Steven Nichols removed his aviators and wiped his brow. God, what he wouldn’t give to work in a cubicle with glorious air conditioning right now. As it were, he was stuck on a worksite at a cave in the middle of bumfuck-nowhere Texas. Deep down, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

An anthropologist by trade, since leaving graduate school he had been researching a series of interesting rock carvings discovered in the late 1930s to early 1950s. Found all throughout the country, one even in Mexico, they had baffled the most seasoned scientists. Originally abandoned and nearly forgotten, that is until a mysterious benefactor funded their little department at Blackwater College. With that funding came a series of government grants that had the operation surviving somewhat comfortably. It became apparent that whoever this person was, they were well connected.

Grabbing the front of his white t-shirt, Steven tried fruitlessly to generate some cool air. Nick was going to flay him alive for most likely ruining yet another shirt. His fiancé was nothing if not particular about his dressings-down. Tempted to grab the closest water bottle and pour it down his front, he watched as one of his student-assistants walked towards him.

“Got the lights set up if you want to go in.” Sweat dewing at his upper lip, Jeremy looked about as miserable as Steven felt.

“Thank you, sir,” Steven replied airily as he hopped up from his perch on a picnic table and tucked his sunglasses into the collar of his shirt. He squinted. “Is it at least a little cooler in there?”

“More humid, but yeah, quite a bit cooler,” Jeremy shrugged.

Steven just smiled, “Take what you can get, am I right?” He placed a hardhat on his sweaty mahogany-haired head then began the short trek to the cave entrance.

“Oh,” Jeremy called out, and Steven turned to face him. “I’m gonna head into town real quick to grab some lunch. You want anything?”

“Uh –,” Steven furrowed his brow and bowed his head in thought. He looked back to Jeremy, “Ooh, get me somethin’ from Taco Bell. A, uh – oh, a big burrito. Doesn’t matter which one.”

Jeremy laughed, “Nick gonna be alright with that?”

Steven just gave the kid a bright smile and said, “Nick can kiss my ass.” He turned again towards the cave.

Jeremy called after him, “You sure you’re gonna be okay alone?” Steven just raised an arm with a thumb’s up.

“I’ll be fine. Now, go get lunch.”

Walking through the entrance, and true to Jeremy’s word Steven felt the cool, damp air wash over him. Stopping at the fork where the cavern split into two directions, he took a moment to wipe the sweat from his face with the bottom of his shirt. As he prepared to restart his journey, he heard what sounded like a gust of wind come through the narrow corridor to his right. Odd, he thought, since the hall led to a small chamber with no exits or vents. Brushing it off, he began his walk through the passage. This time, a sound, unnatural in its characteristics, entered his ears causing him to halt. Steven quickly reached to turn on the headlamp attached to his hardhat. Seeing nothing except thick electrical cables and darkness beyond the scope of his light, he held his breath and turned his ear fractionally toward the source of the noise. Again, a tinkling sound reverberated lightly along the cave walls.

Thoroughly creeped out and thinking of turning back, Steven called out unsure, “Hello?”

When the echo of quick shuffling sounded out, Steven shrinked back. “Who’s there?” In a series of jerky movements, he tried to shine the light anywhere and everywhere. Then, as if in cadence with the beating of his heart, heavy footfalls combined with the same tinkling noise inched quickly closer. Steven’s fight or flight instinct seemingly left him at that moment, as he stood rooted in the spot, unable to move. Until a shadowy figure appeared in his line of sight.

“Jesus Christ!” Shocked, Steven jumped back, falling against the cave wall behind him. The shadowy figure, a man to be precise, then became more detailed. Steven first noticed his peculiar attire. Dressed in dirty western wear, the man at first glance looked like a John Wayne caricature. If not for the setting, Steven would have laughed at the absurdity. “What the hell, man! What’re you doing in here?!” Then, he noticed the gun. “The hell – ”

The man seemed to catch on and slowly raised his hands halfway. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya,” a deep voice echoed through the corridor. “I jus’ – well you see, mister, I am slightly confused.”

Steven scoffed, “You? _You’re_ ‘slightly confused’? How in the hell did you get in here? We’ve had it closed off – ”

“Mister, I do not rightly know. I cannot even begin to explain.” The strange man looked around, and then back to Steven, “Where we at?”

Confused, Steven replied, “Wha – ”

Cutting him off, the man tilted his hands forward slightly, “Jus’, please, humor me.”

Growing even more uncomfortable, Steven responded, “Uh, Texas. We’re in East Texas.”

“Texas?” he questioned, sounding disbelieving. “Tha’s impossible. I was just in Roanoke Valley, in New Hanover – ”

“New Hanover?” Steven exhaled a laugh. “There hasn’t been a New Hanover in like, a hundred years.”

Silence engulfed the hall. The stranger audibly swallowed and shifted on his feet.

“What, uh – what year is it?” He asked quietly.

“What are you playing at, man? Is this a joke, or something?” In obvious frustration, the stranger took a step forward and Steven shrunk back once more. Seemingly noticing the frightened look on the other man’s face, the cowboy raised his hands higher and curled each into fists. He closed his eyes and clinched his jaw.

“Jus’ please.” Feeling an odd sense of sympathy, Steven relaxed slightly at the small desperate tone.

Steven responded in a similar way, “It’s 2018. Um, August.” A little louder, he expanded, “August 15th, 2018.”

The cowboy looked to the side, his clinched jaw slackened.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighed.

Not knowing what to say to that, Steven went for the basics. “What’s your name?” He offered lamely.

“Arthur Morgan,” he replied, distracted.

Without thinking, Steven joked, “Right, and I’m Billy the Kid.”

The man finally turned his eyes to him. “I seen Billy the Kid, an’ you don’ much look like ‘em. Additionally, I believe he is dead,” he shot back, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Right,” Steven nodded and volleyed the sarcastic tone back at him. “If you’re the –,” he gestured wildly in the air, “_famed_ outlaw Arthur Morgan, then how did ya end up here?” Maneuvering his arms into a questioning stance, he awaited an answer.

The man’s eyes narrowed fractionally. Steven’s confidence dropped with his arms. ‘Arthur’ just let out a sigh, “Look, I’ll tell ya everythin’, can ya jus’ please get that light outta my eyes? I’ll show ya the carvin’s I – “

“Wait, carvings?” Steven said quickly.

“Yeah, ‘car-vings’,” he enunciated. “I’m assumin’ that’s what yer here for, considerin’ the lights I saw back there?” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder towards the chamber behind him.

“Uh, yeah it is.” Steven’s brow furrowed, “I meant, what do they have to do with – ”

“Mister, like I said,” he gritted out, patience obviously wearing thin, “I’ll tell ya everythin’; show ya what happen’d.”

All was quiet as Steven studied the man. “Look, my assistant is coming back soon, and – ”

“Please.”

Said so quietly, Steven could feel as desperation came off the man in waves, and something inside said to hear him out.

He sighed, “Okay, just please – please don’t shoot me or attack me or whatever a crazy dude in a cave might want to do to me, okay?”

The cowboy stood straighter and cocked a slight one-sided grin, “I ain’t gonna hurtcha.”

Steven stared a moment and then nodded. “Alright then,” he stuck out his hand in an abortive gesture. “Lead the way.” With a nod, the stranger turned and started walking.

“You gotta name?” He asked unexpectedly.

“Uh, yeah. Steven. Steven Nichols.” He amended, “Dr. Steven Nichols.”

The man hummed, “Doctor, huh?”

“Yeah,” he quickly elucidated, “I have a doctorate in anthropology.”

“What’s that now?” He sounded confused.

“Anthropology. Um, it’s the study of humans, in a broad sense. There are multiple fields,” Steven explained.

The cowboy just hummed in reply.

Steven continued, “Like I, personally, am an archaeologist with a focus in parietal – um, cave art.”

“Heh, I knew a scientist once. Well, a couple, but this lady in particular was somethin’. Kinda batty but meant well. She was diggin’ up dinosaur bones.” The man shook his head, “Wonder if she ended up findin’ ‘em.”

Curious, Steven asked, “What was her name?”

The cowboy pondered, “Oh, MacGuiness somethin’ or other.”

Steven laughed and looked over at the other man, “MacGuiness? Deborah MacGuiness?”

He nodded, “Yup, tha’s the one.” The corridor gradually gave way to a larger but still intimate room. Work lights cast the flowstone in the rear of the chamber in a muted orange tint. The pièce de résistance, however, was the large carving illuminated on the wall sat between two rock columns. The men stopped within feet of the insculpture. Steven removed his hardhat and looked back at him.

“You know of Deborah MacGuiness?” He asked incredulously.

“Mmhmm,” the stranger ran a thumb over the stubble of his chin. “Met ‘er, oh, I reckon it was in New Hanover thereabouts.” He looked to Steven, “In 1899.”

Deborah MacGuiness was ‘batty’ by all accounts but well respected by modern paleontologists. Unfortunately, women of the time were not taken seriously in a field dominated by men. She may have had some outlandish ideas, but many of her hypotheses were proven in the decades that followed her death from Spanish flu in 1918. Steven still could not believe this man actually knew her. He was a scientist, for Christ’s sake. He needed proof.

Steven started, “So, you were going to tell me how you ended up here?”

The other man nodded. “Well –,” he looked to the carvings, “I was knockin’ on death’s door, dyin’, an’ this feller I met awhile back showed up from God knows where. He took me to a cave with these carvin’s o’er near Roanoke Valley. Don’t know wh – ”

“Wait, what?” Steven interrupted. He furrowed his brow and held up a hand, “A carving in Roanoke Valley? In Appalachia?”

Arthur nodded, “I reckon.”

Steven huffed out a humorless laugh, “There aren’t any carvings in the southeast. Well, I mean, we haven’t _found _any, at least.” He was quiet a moment, and the other man just looked at him in waiting. “Ok, so let’s say that I maybe – _maybe_,” he emphasized, “believe you. Would you be able to find this cave on a map?”

The cowboy again nodded, “I reckon I could. I don’ know exactly whereabouts it is, but I reckon I could look.”

“Okay. Okay,” Steven replied, more to himself than Arthur. He glanced from the carving to the man beside him. “What else happened?”

Arthur continued, “So, this feller took me to this cave. Again, I’m dyin’, an’ he drags me to this carvin’. I remembered it lookin’ like the others I found for ‘em.”

“Do you remember what it looked like?” Steven asked.

“Like I said, I was very sick an’ waitin’ to die. I ain’t sure – it ain’t too clear.” He looked to the carving in front of him and shook his head, “It looked a lot like this, but different, ya know?”

Steven just nodded, “So, what happened when you got to the carving?”

“Well, Mr. Sinclair,” he looked to Steven. “That was the feller’s name, Francis Sinclair. Odd feller, with red hair an’ a birthmark over his eye.” He briefly pointed to the side of his face. “Had a funny way of talkin’. Said a bunch o’ words I ain’t never heard before. Anyways, he grabbed my wrists, an’ – now I’m in an’ out, can’t really understand what’s happenin’ or what he’s sayin’, but he grabs my hands an’ puts ‘em up against this carvin’. I dunno what in the hell happened or what he said, but –,” he then placed his hand against the wall, “this all started glowin’, like a blue color.” His arm dropped to his side. “Ain’t never seen anythin’ like it. Then, everythin’ went black.”

He was quiet a moment as if pondering something. He turned his eyes back to Steven and continued, “I saw my entire life flash ‘fore my eyes, like one a them picture shows.” A rueful smile formed on his face, “Trust me, Mister, I know how this sounds. Like somethin’ you’d read in a book by that English feller, but this is the God’s honest truth. Dunno how else to convince ya.”

Steven stared at him, slightly awed, as he absorbed the information. Then, something occurred to him.

“Your – Arthur Morgan’s,” he amended, “grave is a tourist trap on an interstate in Kentucky, or wherever. If you’re him, then –”

“Mister,” the cowboy laughed humorlessly, “I don’ know anythin’ ‘bout that, but I guaran-damn-tee ya there ain’t no body in that grave.”

Steven placed a hand over his eyes and held the other in the air. He sighed, “I gotta think.” He turned around and began the trek out of the cave, not caring if he was being followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments and kudos. It made my day, seriously. Just the fact that anybody at all is reading this is nothing short of amazing. Anywho, a couple notes on this chapter. Sorry it's on the relatively short side, but I ended up splitting this one into two chapters because I felt like it flowed better. This way I'll get chapter 3 up pretty quickly. I'm sure you noticed that I'm switching POVs in each chapter. I like to think it gives us a better understanding of the characters and their motivations, plus a different perspective on the plot. I'll continue this on down the line. Side note: in regards to the professions mentioned in this and future chapters, I apologize if I mischaracterize or inaccurately portray the details. I'm doing my best to research everything, but obviously there are things only a person involved in the respective fields would know. I hope it comes across as believable though! Again, a disclaimer: this hasn't been beta'd so all mistakes are my own, and I apologize for them! If y'all spot anything, please don't hesitate to let me know. And as always, constructive criticism welcomed and appreciated! :)


	3. American Remains

Not knowing if the doctor wanted Arthur to follow, he stood for a moment and stared at the carving on the cave wall. After Steven exited the chamber, the cave was again silent allowing Arthur to observe and reflect. His fingers traced the broad lines of the design as he pondered just how the whole situation had come to pass. What an interesting sequence of events. One moment, Arthur was dying and the next he was not. Having been a hair’s breath away from death had changed him fundamentally. Suddenly being thrust into wellness had been jarring, to say the least. Itching to sketch the new carving, he reached to his side for his journal. Hand feeling empty air where his satchel would usually be, he closed his eyes and covered his face.

In a last act of brotherly affection, Arthur had given John his most important possessions: his father’s hat and his satchel along with everything in it. Suddenly, a deep homesickness fell on him like anvil. The realization that he would never see his family again caused a well of emotions to rise up and threaten to consume him whole. He didn’t belong in this place. If Arthur was a part of a dying breed back then, then how would one hundred and twenty years of so-called progress treat him? With no place to call home and not a penny to his name, how would he survive?

Feeling suddenly claustrophobic in this cool, damp place, Arthur turned and followed the path of Steven’s exit. As the natural light of the sun reached him, he felt a wave of humid heat hit his face, instantly causing tiny rivulets of sweat to breakout across his forehead. Finally exiting the cave, he stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. Even in the heat, Arthur delighted in clean, easy breathing. Tortured by diseased lungs in the past months, he had forgotten what it meant to be well.

Looking at his surroundings, he spotted Steven near a table off to the left of the clearing. Arthur began walking towards him, that is, until he spotted the younger man talking to himself. Rooted in place, he observed Steven holding what appeared to be a small black book while gesturing wildly with his arms.

_Damn it, you old fool_, Arthur inwardly chastised. He had driven the man to madness with his scarcely believable tale. He walked closer to make out the words coming from the young doctor. That’s when he heard the other voice bleeding from the air that surrounded them.

“Steven, my love, my future husband, my everything – if you do not make it to this dinner, I will leave you. And then, I’ll cancel you. You will be canceled!” The voice yelled, sounding as if it came from a phonograph. Arthur furrowed his brow and looked for the source.

“Nick,” Steven responded in voice that even Arthur could tell was full of condescension, “first of all, you know I love you, but you also know I hate these dinners. Secondly, I just told you that something came up at work.” He then cradled the little black book in both hands, thumbs moving wildly over the cover. “It’s incredibly important that –”

Nick interrupted, “It’s_ incredibly important _that you be at this dinner. Steven, we’ve had this planned for two weeks. All of the partners are going to have their significant others with them. They’re expecting you there. They all fucking love you; always like ‘Steven is so charming’ or ‘God Nick, how did you bag a guy like Steven? He’s so funny and you are so – not.’”

Steven laughed, “They don’t say that.” He finally glanced up in Arthur’s direction, smile falling from his face.

“Ugh, yes they do. It’s annoying as shit. I mean, I can be funny,” the voice replied. Steven began looking from the book to Arthur and back again in quick succession.

“Babe, I gotta call you back –”

“Steven –”

“Nick,” Steven interrupted sternly, “I’ll call you right back, I promise.” _Call?_ Arthur thought to himself. _That little black book’s a telephone? Nah…_

Nick sighed loud enough for both men to hear. “Just please show up tonight. It’s all I ask.”

Steven nodded as if he could be seen. Arthur thought maybe he could. They each said ‘I love you’ and Steven glanced up at him.

“Holy shit,” was all he said. 

“What?” Arthur frowned.

Steven just shook his head and held out the little book, or whatever it was. From where Arthur was standing, he could barely discern what looked like a photograph. Steven glanced quickly between the object in his hand and Arthur’s face. He seemed to realize the older man’s cluelessness.

He dropped his arm halfway and grinned, “Oh sorry, you’re probably like ‘what the hell is this?” He gestured to the device and laughed. “Jesus, well, this is a phone. A telephone.” A flipped it in his hands, and then held it out to Arthur. “Go ahead. Check it out.”

Arthur stepped closer and cautiously took the gadget. Looking at it, what he saw would take him back some five years ago to a hunting trip he, John and Hosea had embarked upon in Tall Trees, a year before John had left to God knows where. The trip had been a fruitful one, as the trio had taken down a bear with size to rival the one they had caught in the Grizzlies. It was a good memory, set before his relationship with John had descended into spite and jealousy. He stared at the photograph, the sepia tone making it seem so unreal when his memories burst with color. Arthur, John and Hosea looking as serious as three feared outlaws could, each held rifles behind a large grizzly bear.

Arthur looked up to Steven, “Where’d ya get this?”

The corners of his mouth quirked as if he went to smile but then thought better of it. “That’s a, uh, long story. But I mean –,” Steven then smiled, “it’s you.” He laughed a little manically, “That’s you in that photo.”

Arthur, not realizing the significance of this moment, just replied with a shrug of his large shoulders, “Yeah.”

Steven briefly ran a finger over his lips as he continued to smile, “Dear God. How the hell did this happen?”

“Ain’t gotta clue,” the outlaw replied simply.

Steven just shrugged. “Well, in any case, we have to figure out what we’re gonna do with you. I mean,” he laughed, “you could come home with me, but my, uh – Nick would probably freak the hell out.” A considering look passed over his face. “Hey, you said you were sick before?”

Arthur nodded, “Yeah, but I ain’t coughin’ no more.”

“Tuberculosis?” Steven supplied. The other man’s eyes narrowed fractionally.

“How’d you know?” The doctor just gave a toothy grin.

“Mr. Morgan, you’re quite famous. Like Jesse James.” At Arthur’s perplexed face, he continued, “Didn’t you, like, have your own gang, or something? You know, like Jesse James did?”

Arthur laughed, “What? No.” He shook his head, “I was in one, but I weren’t the leader. That was Dutch.” Steven’s face lit in recognition.

“Oh yeah,” he then looked off to the side. “I haven’t seen any westerns since I was a kid, so I’m only vaguely familiar with the history.” He looked back to Arthur with a smile, “My friend Ada would know. She loves them.”

“Uh-huh. Western? Like a dime novel?” The outlaw asked, head tilted in question.

Steven shook his head. “No, movies. They’re like, uh –,” obviously wondering how to explain, “you know, moving pictures.”

“Oh yeah, I know ‘bout them. Used to go to the theater on special occasions an’ such,” Arthur recalled.

“Well, they’re a little different now,” the doctor laughed. “They’re in color and have sound, so –”

Arthur tracked his thumb across his stubbled chin. “Ain’t that somethin’,” he replied a bit in awe.

Steven smiled, “Yeah well, you’ve been portrayed a couple times, I think.”

Amazed, Arthur responded, “Yer kiddin’.” The younger man just shook his head.

“Nope. The only ones I know of came out a long time ago, like the ‘40s or ‘50s. Maybe earlier.” The outlaw lightly laughed.

He looked slyly to Steven. “Were they, uh – were they handsome?” The corner of Arthur’s mouth ticked slightly up.

Steven barked out a quick laugh. “Oh yeah. They were.” He shot the other man another toothy smile. “Though, I’m beginning to think that they didn’t do you justice!”

Unfamiliar with such bald-faced compliments, Arthur bowed his head in an attempt to hide the shy smile forming on his face. _Damn it all_, he didn’t have his hat. He just swatted his hand and said, “Nah.”

Steven was apparently having none of that. “Trust me, Arthur. Even covered in dirt, you’re a tall drink of water on a hot day.” He let out a loud guffaw at the sight of the blush that crept up on Arthur’s face. “I’m just messin’ with ya.”

Arthur just shrugged and tried to conjure up what little was left of his mean outlaw persona. “Yeah, well –”

“Alright,” laughing again, Steven stepped past Arthur, clapping him on his shoulder. “I’m gonna go turn off the generator and stuff, and then we’ll figure out what to do.”  
  


* * *

What in the hell was he going to do? Nick would kill him. No doubt about it. His future husband would whip out that Latin Fire and scorch him where he stood. Steven could see the inevitable conversation play out in his head. ‘_Honey, I’ve brought home an outlaw from the 19th century. He’s going to be staying with us for a while. Oh, and he has a gun, and he could shoot us in our sleep and rob our corpses._’

“Jesus,” Steven said quietly to himself as he gathered the equipment around the worksite. His morbid train of thought was then interrupted by the shrill sound of his cellphone ringing. Grabbing the device from his back pocket, he looked at the screen.

_Nick_, the ID screamed at him. Steven stared at it a moment before answering.

“I swear I was just about to call you,” he started. He could hear the eye roll coming through the phone.

“Uh-huh. Why did you tell Jeremy to go home earlier?”

_Shit_. “Well, I uh –,” completely unsure with what to say and totally unfamiliar with lying to his partner, he explained the best he could. First though, “How did you know I sent Jeremy home?”

“You sounded weird when I spoke to you last, so I texted him. Stop trying to change the subject.”

_Figures. _He needed to teach the kid about worksite discretion. But right now, he had to get through this conversation. “Something did come up. Nick, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Nick responded in a concerned voice, “Steven, what is it? What happened?”

“Well – you see – I, uh, I’ve met someone else, and I’ve decided that we’re going to be together.” Steven paused a second, then added, “I’m leaving you.”

“Good lord, Steven. Be serious. I’m sitting here thinking you’re about to tell me you have cancer or something.”

“Oh, no. I’m healthy as a horse. I am leaving you, though.”

“_Mi amor_. Please. What’s going on?” Nick was sounding legitimately concerned now.

Steven sighed, “Look, I’ll tell you everything. This evening.” He added, “Just trust me. We’ll talk about it tonight after dinner, I promise.”

Giving a light chuckle, Nick reassured, “Okay, okay. I trust you. I wouldn’t be marrying you if I didn’t.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Steven turned and looked at Arthur across the clearing. The outlaw was sitting at the picnic table, arms folded. Suddenly remembering a part of their conversation from earlier, he looked again to his phone. Selecting a contact, he dialed Lauren Linklater’s number. She answered on the third ring.

“Linklater.”

“Hey, it’s Steven. You gotta minute?”

He could hear a distinct crunching noise. “I’m at lunch. What’s up?” Always succinct and to the point. Steven appreciated that right now.

“Well, I have a question about something. Completely hypothetical,” he started.

“Okay.” She waited for him to elucidate.

“Okay, so again, completely hypothetical –”

“Steven.”

“Yeah?” He asked.

“I’ve got like ten minutes to eat before I have to go put my hands in some dude’s chest cavity –”

“Right. Yeah, sorry, so – say someone traveled through time from, I dunno, 1899 to our time. Would you be concerned about them getting deathly sick from something really simple, like a common cold? Would they be more susceptible?” Then he remembered, “Oh, and what if they had tuberculosis before they – you know, time-traveled?”

Steven figured she might be chewing her lunch, when it took a moment for her to answer.

“Is this a part of your weird cave art or something?” She asked.

“Rock carvings,” he corrected. “Well, kinda. I mean, yes. It is.” He explained, “I’m asking you because it’s a little bit outside my purview.”

“Okay, well, it’s a little bit outside of mine, too. This would be a great question for, I dunno, an epidemiologist or – heh, Doc Brown. I’m a general surgeon.”

Steve sighed, “Right. I just needed a quick opinion, so –”

“I just don’t want to give you incorrect information, especially for your job, ya know? If this is off the record, or whatever, I can try to resurrect some of the ole braincells from med school.”

He laughed, “Yes, if you could do that, I’d appreciate it.”

“Okay, so I probably wouldn’t be too concerned about this hypothetical person getting a modern day cold. Our immune systems are pretty badass, and it’s been that way for a long time. I’d be more concerned about a modern-day person going back, like, five hundred years, I guess. Still, I would maybe want to do a blood test and a cheek swab to make sure they’re not bringing small pox or something with ‘em. You say this hypothetical dude had TB?”

“Yeah, but afterwards, he didn’t have any signs of still being sick. And before, he was near death, like minutes or hours away.”

“Okay, well, they’d probably need to get checked out anyways. TB is highly treatable with antibiotics these days, so not much to worry about. If this dude wasn’t showing any signs of illness, chances are he didn’t bring it with him.” She then began to laugh.

“What?” Steven asked.

“Nothing, just – we’re talking about it like it exists. I dunno, just thought that was funny.”

“Yeah,” he breathed a laugh. He heard her begin chewing again.

“Steven.”

“What?”

He could hear the smile in her voice, “Did you find a diseased time-traveler?”

“Very funny,” Steven muttered sarcastically. “I’ll let you get back to your lunch, and your – chest cavity.”

Lauren laughed, “Okay, let me know how your project goes.”

“Will do.”

Hanging up, Steven sighed. Thinking about where in the hell he could stash a time-traveling cowboy, he walked back over to Arthur. The outlaw was hunched over the picnic table, staring intently at his hands. He looked up when Steven’s boots entered his field of vision.

“Well, we gotta head out pretty soon before traffic gets too bad.” He glanced in the direction of his car beyond the wall of pine trees.

Arthur frowned, “Traffic?”

Steven nodded, “Yup. You know, lots of vehicles, people.”

“Yeah, I know what traffic is. Jus’ wonderin’ if we’ll be goin’ through a city?” He clarified.

Motioning for Arthur to follow him, Steven elaborated, “Yeah, but not for a while. It’s pretty crazy, but it’s not just the cities that hold most people now. There are a shit ton of people in the boonies, too.” Judging by his expression, Arthur didn’t seem to like that little tidbit. Steven pointed to a couple of small crates, “Mind helping me carry these?”

Arthur moved to pick up one of the containers, “Naw, ‘course not.” Both men began walking along a path surrounded by trees leading out to the parking lot. Steven let out a loud laugh at Arthur’s face when they reached his silver Ford truck.

They sat down the crates as Arthur took a moment to absorb the vehicle in front of him.

Steven, thinking of the Bon Jovi song, tried his best to explain. “It’s like, uh, a steel horse. Ya know – “

Arthur just looked to him with a sardonic face, “I know whatta automobile is.”

Steven nodded, “Oh, right.”

“They’re just, ah – a li’l different than I remember ‘em.” Walking around the perimeter of Steven’s car, Arthur seemed to observe every little detail. Almost like an artist would a subject, he thought vaguely.

“Yeah, well.” Steven kicked a rock at his foot. “Wait ‘till you get inside.”

“Huh,” the cowboy huffed. Coming to stand beside Steven, he looked to the younger man. Placing his hands on his hips, Arthur pondered, “Just how would one go ‘bout doin’ that?”

Steven huffed out a laugh, “We’ll get to that, but first, we need to, uh – talk about your, uh, gun.”

“You ain’t takin’ my gun, Doc.”

“Steven, and it’s just –”, Steven took a step forward. Arthur’s hand went to his pistol grip, as if preparing to draw, and Steven shot his hands up in surrender. “Woah, I’m – I’m not going to take your gun, well – not for what you think. Can you just please take your hand off the gun? Please, don’t shoot me.”

Arthur acquiesced by removing his hand and briefly raising it palm forward in the air.

“Look, I’m not trying to take your gun, at least not for why you’re thinking. It’s just – times have changed. You can’t just walk around strapped like Jesse James.” Arthur quirked a dark brow. “I mean, this _is Texas_, but still. Cops can have itchy trigger fingers ‘round here.”

“Ain’t that all the more reason I should keep my gun?” Arthur’s deep voice drawled.

“No! Absolutely not!” Steven laughed incredulously. “I mean, that may seem logical to you, I guess, but trust me when I say you do not want to go shooting cops. ‘Law and order’ is – well, it’s just not the same as it used to be.”

Arthur looked pensive for a moment as he stared at Steven, as if to determine if the younger man was being truthful. Finally, his hands went to the buckle of his gun belt to loosen it. “You ain’t gonna make me regret this, are ya?”

Steven exhaled a nervous laugh, “What? No, no. I mean, you have more of a chance of being, I dunno, sucked up by a tornado than you have of being shot at between here and where we’re going.”

“Uh-huh, and jus’ where are we goin’?”

“Well, that’s TBD.” At Arthur’s confused expression, Steven quickly amended, “To be determined.”

“A’right,” the cowboy waved a hand in the air. “Let’s get a move on then.”  


* * *

After placing the crates inside of the bed and Arthur’s gun belt under the backseat, the men climbed into the monstrosity of an automobile. Steven had shown Arthur how to open the door and put on a seatbelt, but it seemed easy enough. Sitting in the interior of this modern-day work horse, he luxuriated in the leather seat. He ran his fingers along the armrest, the treated leather feeling like smooth silk against his calloused hands. Looking up, his antiquated mind tried to conjure up why a person would need all these knobs and dials. What was their purpose? Steven settled into the seat beside him.

“You ready?”

“I gotta choice?”

Steven quirked a brow, “Not really.”

“Well then. There’s yer answer.”

And with that, the young doctor turned on the beast beneath them. Arthur did not expect the burst of noise that felt as if it hit him physically. Steven reached for the dials in front of them and quickly apologized.

“Oh god, sorry! I forgot I had the radio on, I’m so sorry,” he said quickly.

“Good god, man. How do you still have yer hearin’?” Arthur questioned, absolutely astonished.

“Yeah, that was loud. It keeps me going on a long drive.” He laughed, “I’m so sorry.”

Arthur just shook his head, “What in the hell was that?”

“Uh, music. Metallica, I think.”

The outlaw stared at Steven like he’d grown two heads, “Music? What the hell kinda music is that?” He shook his head. “Sounded like a thousand cats dyin’.”

Steven shrugged, “I think they’d like that comparison.”

The doctor tinkered with some levers and such around the wheel, and suddenly they were moving. Exiting the area, they pulled out onto the road. Despite the anxiety Arthur felt at the fast movement, he decided it wasn’t too terrible. That is until the speed caused his world to tilt.

Steven was chatting away about where they were going and what they would do when they got there, when Arthur began to feel utterly nauseated. Mesmerized by the white lines in the middle of the road as they moved past so quickly that they turned into one blur, his vision doubled, eyes nearly rolling back in his head. If Steven noticed, he didn’t say anything, so preoccupied as he was.

“I mean, we have a pullout couch. But our place is tiny. We’d be like sardines in a can. You had those in your time –”

“Doc.”

“– right? Of course, you did. Well, we’d be like sardines. It’d be uncomfortable. I’d ask –”

“Doc.”

“– Lauren, but she’s a doctor. She’s always working. It’s not like –”

“Pull over.”

“– I can leave you alone. Holy shit, I know who –”

Arthur finally raised his voice, “Steven!

Confused, Steven replied, “What?”

Looking at the other man, Arthur gritted lowly, “Stop this damn contraption ‘fore I vomit all o’er this nice leather.” Finally understanding, Steven pulled to the side of the road. As Arthur went to hop down from the vehicle, something jerked him back into place. Before the outlaw could grab his knife, Steven calmly reached over and unbuckled the belt. Murmuring a quick ‘thanks’, Arthur hauled himself out of the truck and into the field. A loud horn from another passing vehicle would have scared him out of his boots, if he hadn’t been so overcome with nausea.

Steven yelled a sarcastic, “Ok, thank you!” before saying to himself, “Asshole.”

Wiping his mouth, Arthur turned and walked back to the truck. Once they were both inside, Steven looked at him.

“You okay?” He asked, concerned. Arthur just nodded. Steven continued, “I didn’t even think about you getting motion sickness. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“S’alright,” Arthur said quietly.

The doctor handed him a bright pink pill of some sort and what looked like a clear canteen.

“It’ll help with the dizziness. Plus, it might even help you get some rest. We got a couple hours drive before we reach the city.” Arthur took it without question, washing it back with the warm water as Steven pulled the truck back onto the road.

He questioned, “City?”

“Yeah. Blackwater.”

Unable to help it, Arthur felt his blood run cold. Knowing that his bounty was long gone was not enough to keep his anxiety from spiking. Arthur did not say anything. This man knew his name, did he know his sins? Would he still be so generous and willing to take him in, knowing the blackness of the outlaw’s heart?

Steven briefly glanced his way. “I have an idea about where you can stay. I have to call her, but I know she’ll be okay with it.” He looked back at Arthur. “I think you’ll like her.”

Arthur just nodded, feeling the effect of the medicine begin to take hold. Eyelids turning heavy, he shifted until his head lulled forward. Exhaustion catching up with him, he surrendered to Morpheus in a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for saying that I would post yesterday when I did not. We had some terrible weather 'round here, and it took me forever to get home last night. Long chapter is long, though. I know y'all are probably like "where is your OFC"? Well, she'll be introduced in the next chapter, I promise. I should have it posted in a couple of days. Shoutout to TheTiniestTortoise, who has valiantly offered to beta this story (this chapter was not). Fair warning: I'm seriously going to take you up on this, so be prepared lmao. In the meantime, y'all need to go read "Blackbird's Song". It's a fantastic ArthurxOC take on the RDR2 plot, seriously drop everything and read it!
> 
> Also, I created a "We Heart It" collection thing where I pin images that inspire me while writing. Just a warning, though: It might spoil some elements of the story. If you don't want any idea of where I'm taking the plot, do not click here: https://weheartit.com/barkgable/collections/167163996-the-year-of-magical-thinking  
Thank you to TiesThatBind1899 (author of Memories of the West - another must read), for the idea. You're awesome.
> 
> If you'd like to follow me on tumblr, it's homiegeesus.tumblr.com . I post updates and whatever else on there.
> 
> Almost forgot, in this story, Blackwater is Dallas. I read in the wiki that Blackwater was likely modeled after early 20th century Dallas, so I'm running with it. Plus, it's where I live, and even though most authors can't agree on whether you should "write what you know", this is fanfiction, so hell yes I will write what I know...at least in the first few chapters lol.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter, and as always, constructive criticism welcomed and appreciated!


	4. Pace Post Bellum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I loved you when I saw you today and I loved you always but I never saw you before.” - Ernest Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls

_In the serenity of a quiet meadow, a buck dips his massive twelve-point head into the calmly moving spring. The early morning sun casts an ethereal glow on its surroundings. A branch breaks in the distance causing the buck to lift his head in an abrupt movement. _

_ A rifle shot resounds. _

Arthur’s eyes opened as he took a deep, unsteady breath. The fog of sleep leaving him, he sat up straighter as he remembered where he was. A faint melody wafted through the air, a sad-sounding duo singing about a girl from the north country. This was more to his taste, if he had one, than the ear-killing music that had assaulted him earlier.

Cool air flowed over Arthur’s face and arms, a nice contrast from the heat outside. He felt grimy and so tired, the old wound in his shoulder irritated from sitting in one position unmoved. He glanced at his traveling companion. Steven, head leaning back against the seat, hummed the tune quietly, seemingly unaware he was being observed.

Good-looking enough, Arthur admitted, with a strong jaw and dimples when he smiled. The man had a kind face. Too trusting in the eyes, the outlaw noticed, inadvertently looking for any crack in the young doctor’s façade that he could exploit. Inwardly chastising himself he thought, _ not this man; he’s been kind to you, ya fool _. Looking away from Steven in self-disgust, he took in the surrounding environs outside the vehicle. Tall pines had given way to flat, mostly empty fields smattered with oak trees dotting the landscape. Random buildings, some large, passed by in a blur before he could describe their features. A lake that Arthur remembered well came into view along the horizon. Steven finally noticed the other man was awake.

“Hey, you get any rest?” He asked.

Arthur nodded, “Yeah. ‘M fine.”

Looking towards the fast-approaching Flat Iron Lake, Arthur glanced at the other man.

“We gonna catch a ferry, or –,” he trailed off.

Steven just shook his head. “Nah, they built a bridge a while back.”

“’Cross the whole lake?” The outlaw replied, a little amazed at the ingenuity of such a feat.

The other man shrugged, “At least the fork part of it, or whatever.”

Silence eclipsed the cabin as both men looked across the lake. Arthur, lost in thought and a little mesmerized by the passing water, didn’t hear when Steven began speaking again.

He turned his head, “What’s that?”

“I said that I spoke with that friend of mine, while you were sleeping.”

“Okay,” Arthur nodded. “And?”

Glancing between the road and his passenger, Steven elaborated, “she said to come on over.” He huffed out a small laugh. “Ada’s like that, ya know, taking in strays and such.”

What an apt description of himself, Arthur thought. The only thing close to a home he’d ever found was with his people, and even that had sometimes seemed alien. 

“She’s a sweet girl,” Steven continued. “Quick-tempered if you rile her, but a good person.” He regarded Arthur with a look the outlaw knew well. _ Distrust and wariness. _“She’s like a sister to me, more family than my own blood.”

The tone and intent was loud and clear: _ don’t you think about hurting her _. Holding his stare for a moment, Steven finally looked back to the road. Silence once again descended. Arthur had only a few minutes to wallow in shame before they crossed the long bridge. That’s when a sight that would stick with him for a long while came into view.

In the distance, buildings even taller than those he had seen in Chicago once upon a time. Standing upon the horizon like eerie monoliths, they were a testament to progress.

Arthur leaned forward in his seat. He exhaled a breath, “What the –”

Steven looked over at him. “Yeah. They’re somethin’, aren’t they?” Receiving no response, he continued, “That’s downtown Blackwater.” 

Peeling his eyes from the skyline, Arthur turned his head to the other man. “Yer kiddin’,” he replied, unbelieving.

One corner of Steven’s mouth ticked up, but he said nothing.

* * *

Arthur could hardly believe the sheer amount of people that now populated Blackwater. Steven had explained that an oil boom in the early to mid-1900s had caused rapid economic growth in the area. With all that money came all the people. And good God, there were a lot of them. Blackwater had become a veritable center of industry in the midst of the otherwise empty Midwest. 

Feeling out of his depth and overwhelmed by all the visual stimuli, he breathed a silent sigh of relief when they drove away from downtown to a calmer, tree-filled neighborhood. Great big old-growth live oaks and pecans littered each oversized front lawn, while a mix of attractive Victorian and newer build homes sat far from the curb of the street.

“It’s a really old neighborhood,” Steven said. “A lot of the houses are from your time, some early twentieth century.”

He explained that this Ada woman had inherited her house from her now-deceased grandmother. When Steven spoke of this girl that would take him in, Arthur could not help but imagine her as a well-to-do heiress, riding the coattails of previous generations’ success. Dutch’s populist ideals had been ingrained into him from a young age, and despite all his good intentions, Arthur could not shake them.

They stopped in front of a pretty little house with a small balustraded stairway that led up to a semi-wrap-around porch and a stark red door. The porch started in the center of the house and continued to wrap around to the left. To the right was a bay of double-pane windows with the upper halves decorated in a simple stained glass. Unadorned brackets dotted the eaves of the house, with two high-peaked gables holding small single-paned windows. Light beige siding with white trim made the blood-red entry stand out all the more. Looking familiar to any city house he would have encountered in his time, Arthur felt an iota of comfort.

He glanced at Steven, waiting for an indication that they should exit the car. The other man turned the vehicle off, removed the key and leaned slightly back in the seat. He looked over to Arthur and asked, “You ready?”

_ No _ , he wanted to say, _ I ain’t ready for any of this. _ False courage won out. “Sure.”

Apparently reading Arthur’s mind, Steven gave him an encouraging smile. 

“Trust me when I say she’s a good person. I mean, she’s been through shit of her own. You should get along famously.” Steven was obviously trying to reassure him, but Arthur took no comfort in his words; he wondered if trust would ever come easy to someone like him. Still, the young doctor pressed on. “How ‘bout this? You have any reservations when you go in, I’ll take you to get a room at a hotel. I just really think you should have someone with you, ya know?”

Embarrassed and feeling like a child, Arthur grumbled, “Nah. This is fine.”

Steven nodded, “Good.” He waved a hand, “Come on, let’s go then.”

Exiting the vehicle, Arthur followed the other man down the walkway towards the stairs. Before they could reach the door, it opened. If the old outlaw had been drinking at that moment, he would have unceremoniously spewed it all over this nice porch. He immediately recognized the girl from his would-be memories seen during his journey to this place. She had painted nearly every frame, with her long blonde hair, bright smile and apple cheeks. Though the visions had not done her justice. Even from a distance, her moss-colored eyes stood out underneath fine brows. Plump lips thinned with her toothy smile below a button nose, all encased in an attractive oval face. 

Arthur distantly heard someone say his name. Realizing he was staring at the poor woman like a degenerate, he cleared his throat and looked to his boots. He felt a slight annoyance at Steven’s light chuckle.

“Did y’all stop at the Stockyards in Cowtown on the way here, or is it already Halloween?” The girl joked in obvious sarcasm. 

Arthur lifted his head and narrowed his eyes at her. _ I ain’t no cowboy _ , he wanted to say. _ Well, not really _.

Steven motioned between the outlaw and the girl. “Ada, this is Arthur. Arthur, Ada.”

“Ma’am,” was all Arthur said with a slight nod. 

The blonde smirked. “You can call me Ada,” she laughed lightly, making Arthur feel a fool before pointing over her shoulder. “Come on in.”

Following the pair, Arthur crossed the entry into a narrow foyer. He was immediately hit with the scent of baking bread. Nearly salivating at the smell, he’d only realized in this moment that he was starving. Passing by stairs to the left and a cozy sitting room to the right, they stopped near the rear of the house. A large open kitchen, with different strange-looking metal contraptions, sat next to a living room full of drape-covered floor-to-ceiling windows. A single door seemed to lead to a porch out back.

“Dinner’s about ready if you’re hungry.” 

Arthur stopped his observance of his surroundings and looked to Ada. Realizing she was staring expectantly at him, he gave her a small nod. 

She turned to Steven, “You sure you can’t stay? I made plenty.”

Steven gave her a reproachful smile, “Nah, sorry I can’t. Nick would kill me if I stood him up.” He then tilted his head towards the back door. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Ada glanced between the two men, “Sure. Arthur, make yourself at home.” She gestured to the open living room before walking out the door onto the back porch outside.

Steven paused for a moment before addressing Arthur. “We’ll just be a minute.” 

The outlaw nodded and the other man walked out and closed the door behind him. 

Itching for a cigarette to calm his nerves, his hand once again went to his side and found nothing. Looking for another outlet for his anxiety, he decided to look around. Forgoing the couch, Arthur spotted some photographs on the mantle of a fireplace sat between windows facing the backyard. He walked over to get a better look, boots sounding heavy on the dark wood floors in the quietness of the room. Photographs of all shapes and sizes crowded the shelf, but a solitary unframed picture caught his eye. Picking it up carefully as not to disturb the others, he looked closer. An older woman with long silver hair and a kind, cheeky smile sat wrapped in the arms of a younger version of the girl he had just met. Ada had that same look that Arthur had seen in his visions and had haunted him since; in brilliant color a smile so bright, he hardly believed anybody could be that happy. 

He flipped the photograph over. Written in a distinctly feminine script: _Gramma Signy & Adeline, ’08_. It took his mind a moment to register that it meant 2008, not 1908.

Eyes automatically going to the girl in question through the window, he found her looking right back. Feeling as if he’d been caught doing something nefarious, he immediately returned the photograph to its place. He turned and marched straight to the plush couch and took a seat to wait for the two friends to finish their talk.

About ten minutes later, Steven and Ada walked back into the house. Standing up from his spot on the couch, Arthur looked to the other man for a clue on how the talk went but found only a dimpled smile.

“Well, I’m gonna head out. Have to get to Uptown in, like, an hour.”

“That far away?” Arthur had no sense of direction in this place.

Steven shook his head. “Nah, ‘bout thirty minutes in traffic.”

Arthur nodded and then turned his attention to Ada. It seemed in the last fifteen minutes she had developed a semi-permanent furrow in her brow. She looked at him like he was alien, and maybe he was. Made uncomfortable by her stare, Arthur averted his gaze. 

Steven cleared his throat. “Uh – well – if everything’s all set here, I’m gonna head out,” he repeated.

Arthur remembered his gun belt. “I’m gonna need to get my – er – _ things _ outta yer automobile.”

“Oh, yeah. Just, uh, follow me out then,” Steven replied.

They stepped outside, Ada only following to the doorstep. Steven had given her a tight hug, and Arthur had barely heard her whisper “I trust you” into the other man’s ear. Feeling like he was intruding on a private moment, he continued the walk towards the vehicle. 

Steven appeared beside him a moment later. The younger man took a deep breath and placed his hands on his hips. Staring straight ahead, Steven addressed the man to his right. “Ada’s like a sister to me.” He finally turned to look at the outlaw, “I don’t know what I’d do without her.” 

Understanding where this conversation was going, Arthur's gaze lowered to his boots. 

Steven continued, “I’m trusting that you’re a decent man – considering.”

“Not gonna lie to ya. I ain’t a good man.” He looked up at Steven. “But, I don’t bite the hand that feeds me if ya get my meanin’. And I sure as hell ain’t gonna hurt no woman.”

Steven smirked and nodded. “Well, you might think differently after a day or two,” he said with a small laugh as he lightly slapped Arthur’s shoulder. “Let’s get your stuff.”

After retrieving his gun belt and shaking hands in that ancient show of masculinity, Steven was off. Looking up at the darkening cloudless sky, Arthur could not see any stars. Just as he had imagined, the developed world had blotted out the heavens and replaced it with a colorless haze. An unconscious yearning for belonging came over him, and Arthur felt his gaze being pulled towards the house. Ada stood in the doorway, waiting for him. Watching each other for a moment longer, a small smile pulled at her lips. With a motion of her hand, she beckoned him inside and he followed.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you TheTiniestTortoise for betaing this mess of a story! Your insight has been invaluable!
> 
> So sorry for the wait. I got sick last week then had to play makeup at work so life has been busy. Things should start slowing down during the holidays, and I'll have more time to post. I already started the next chapter and should have it up very soon. The chapters should be longer in the future as I start to get into the nitty-gritty of the plot. Thank y'all so much for reading.
> 
> Constructive criticism welcomed and appreciated.


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